


The Wrong Tree

by orphan_account



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Gen, Is there a competition for sending GC the most fucked-up prompts possible or, Post-Canon, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 00:05:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1283827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lan Fan and May find Hawkeye's lost dog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wrong Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: "Lan Fan and Mei find Hawkeye's dog".
> 
> ??? Your guess is as good as mine.
> 
> Unedited/unbeta'det/c. Enjoy!

Riza Hawkeye checks her watch cautiously. Glances up at the window as if searching for the corrected time somewhere in the pale crescent of the moon. Scans the door as though seeking a nonexistent pet flap of some kind of another. Checks her watch again.

“Second time this week,” says Hawkeye out loud. On the other side of the dinner table, Kain Fuery dips his head, and his erratic hair shifts. Somehow it stands up even more prominently than usual tonight, possibly for the never-ending panic bidding him run his fingers through the strands, and Hawkeye suppresses a smile.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Fuery puts in rather anxiously. He catches himself with his hands tangled again in his hair. “I’m absolutely _certain_ that any second now Jean or Heymans or Lieutenant Catalina or Vato’s gonna call us or something to tell us that they’ve found him.”

“Second time this _week_.” Hawkeye folds her hands to her lap. Her sigh deflates her lungs and in the process releases a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. “Maybe it would be faster if you stayed here to man the phones and I went out to look for him. I know him _very_ well, after all.” She raises an eyebrow in his direction; Fuery responds with a nervous _cheep_ and conceals his face in the shadows of his lowered head. “It’ll be quicker. I’ll find him in record time. I usually do.”

Fuery shakes his head. “The second he comes home, he’s going to jump all over you.”

She quirked her mouth in a partial smile. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Still! You’ve got to stay—”

A knock on the door. And not the _shave and a haircut_ that Team Mustang had put into effect fairly recently. Hawkeye and Fuery exchange glances consciously devoid of meaning; then Fuery furrows his brow ever so slightly, and Hawkeye replies with a narrowing of her eyes. Rising from the table with her palm resting on her belt beside the barrel of her gun, she crosses to the door. “Hello? Who is it?”

Muffled whispering, high and urgent. Hawkeye tenses, fingers curling around the trigger-point. Then: “I think we found your dog.” Beat. Another whisper, and then the first voice adds an afterthought: “Ma’am.”

“What does he look like?” There’s a gurgle from the other side. Hawkeye winces. “Never mind. I’m opening the door.”

Two women stand in the doorway with Roy Mustang’s drunk form sprawled over their shoulders. Hawkeye blinks: One of them is the vassal of that convict to whom she loaned the gun, once a few years ago; the other is the alkahestry girl who saved her life on the Promised Day. May Chang. “Oh. How did you—?!”

Before she can continue Fuery has lifted Mustang onto his own shoulders and is busily dragging him to Hawkeye’s couch. Fortunately he sounds sufficiently drunk to spend the night asleep yet not _so_ drunk so as to require a hospital. For once, Mustang has done everything perfectly.

“Where did you find him?”

May grins. The other woman steps in smoothly to bridge the gap between them and slides her hand into May’s palm more naturally than Hawkeye thought possible. “Lan Fan and I’re in Amestris for our honeymoon. We were down at the Christmas bar—Madame Christmas offered me free meal and board for saving you those couple years back!—and we saw him down there.” She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Complaining about being rejected by some girl, again.”

_Yes_ , Hawkeye wants to say, _me_. Instead she answers: “Well, thank you for the trouble.” Hawkeye glances back to see Mustang snoring on her futon; _that_ mess she’ll clean up tomorrow. “Would you like coffee? Tea? I insist you come in, at least for a moment, for your troubles.”

Lan Fan bows. “Thank you, Mrs Hawkeye. May and I will take tea. I prefer mine without sugar; she takes hers with two teaspoons.” Beaming, May butts Lan Fan’s shoulder, and Lan Fan blushes.

Hawkeye is ushering them into her kitchen when the full force of their words makes contact:

“Wait. _Honeymoon_?”


End file.
